


Let's Conspire to Ignite

by littleyounggun



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Divorce, Gen, Ib (Game) - Freeform, Ib (Video Game) - Freeform, Ib - Freeform, Scars, absent father, burn - Freeform, i have seriously no idea how to tag things here, mention of bullying, warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleyounggun/pseuds/littleyounggun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garry's past is the foundation of his present, from the words he chooses to share with with Ib down to the lighter he carries in his pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Conspire to Ignite

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons galoooooooore! And character study, I think?

Six year-old Garry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he padded into the kitchen where his mother was hunched over the sink, gripping the edge with bony fingers. He paused at the doorway, considering what to do, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

His parents' loud arguing had awoken him. It wasn't anything unusual now. Normally he'd just turn over and go back to sleep. The first few times it had happened, Garry had gotten up to see what was going on. It had to be something important if they were being so loud about it, right? But every single time they would tell him to go back to sleep, sorry for waking you up, honey, we'll be quieter next time. 

He learned to remain in his room.

This time, however, he had stared too long into the darkness of his bedroom. It had become suffocating. There were too many figures he couldn't identify. Faces and creatures that would get up and move around when he was sleeping. He was only one person in bed, defenseless. The odds were against him. With a building fear, Garry had quickly rolled out of bed to find his mother or father, too long pajama pants dragging at his feet.

Which was how he found himself hesitating at the door of the kitchen. It didn't look like his mother had heard him approaching. He could sneak back into his room, avoid the scolding he would most likely receive from being up at night again, but he didn't think he could handle the darkness anymore and his mother didn't look too happy. 

When ever Garry was sad, his mother would kiss the tip of his nose and tap his forehead with her finger three times. Then with a smile, she'd say, "One for friendship, one for miracles, and one for my absolute love for you. Never forget, my little hero." 

It was like she was sharing those things with him, to make him stronger she had once explained. It made him feel instantly better. If it worked for him, it had to work for her, too.

Just as he was about to step into the kitchen to share the magic, a tiny glow caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Garry turned, spotting his father outside through the glass of the back door. He stole another glimpse at his mother, frowning at her quivering shoulders, before deciding to go to his father instead. Maybe they could do it at the same time and it would be double the power.

Opening the door quietly, he stepped out into the night. Darkness surrounded him once more which made him quickly grab ahold of his father's pant-leg. The glow he had spotted earlier threw shadows around his father's face. A lit cigarette hung between his lips.

His father looked at him with surprised eyes. "Garry," he said, and smoke blew out with the name. Garry wrinkled his face at the smell. After a soft sigh and a pat on the head, the cigarette was dropped and squashed into the ground. Garry wondered what it felt like, if it hurt through his shoe.

With the miniature source of light snuffed out, they were left with the glimmer of the moon. He could see the shadow of his father crouch in front of him. "What are you doing up, little man?"

Garry breathed deeply. He figured he could leave out the yelling bit and dive into the important part. He leaned forward and cupped a hand around his mouth, whispering, "Well I woke up and...I think there's a monster in my room."

His father's lips twitched. "A monster?" Garry nodded seriously. "Impossible, we sucked it up with the vacuum, remember?" He bit his lip nervously, then remembering the event, nodded again. "See? All is good. Go to sleep or you'll be tired tomorrow." 

The itchy tiredness was returning to his eyes so he nodded, but his father's hands on his shoulders stopped him once more. He looked thoughtful for a second, worried. Then, "Garry, my little young gun, you know I love you."

Garry blinked, confused, but responded. "I love you, too. We vacuum monsters together."

It pulled a chuckle out of him. "Yes, and I want you to know that you have made me very happy, and I will always love you no matter what."

"Why are you saying that?"

A shake of his head. "It's always good to remind the people you love how much you love them. Now run along, off to bed." At Garry's nod, he straightened with a grunt, joints creaking. 

Garry turned once more before heading inside. The flame of his father's lighter mesmerized him, red and hot against the cool blue of the night. 

"Garry, up again?" After closing the door behind him, he turned to his mother. Her eyes, kind as always, were a bit brighter than usual. Her nose looked pink. She cast a glance outside but quickly assigned her attention to her child, scooping him up in her arms with great effort. "My baby boy is growing up! I won't be able to carry you for much longer."

"I can't grow up," he said with a pout.

"And why is that?"

"Because I got scared of the dark."

His mother frowns. "Why were you scared, my knight?"

"I thought there was a monster."

"Well!" She opened the door to his room, flipping the light on. "We simply can't have that now can we?"

She placed him on the bed, tucking him in, then set to work on gathering all his stuffed animals. He watched patiently as she set them all on the floor around his bed so their backs were turned to him. When she placed the last one, she smiled softly. "All done! Now you've got a little army protecting you. Nothing will get past them." Garry grinned. She sat on the edge of his bed, brushing his dark curls aside before kissing his forehead. 

Taking advantage of the proximity, Garry shyly tapped her forehead three times. It put the widest smile on his mother's face, and Garry felt like he could burst with pride.

When she headed out, she left his door open a crack and the light in the hallway on. Fears settled, mind at peace, Garry quickly fell asleep.

Later in the night, his bladder awoke him. He shimmied out of bed, careful not to disturb his circle of animal soldiers when an unexpected sound made him jump. His head snapped in its direction. His father was seated in an old rocking chair they had placed in his room, snoring. He was fully dressed, shoes and everything, jacket hung over the armrest. 

Garry frowned in confusion, wondering why his father would  be sleeping there of all places, but forgot all about it when he made his dash to the bathroom.

The third time Garry opened his eyes, he was not really sure what exactly woke him up. Pale, morning light was barely dripping through his window. His guardian animals continued to keep monsters at bay. The rocking chair was empty now. The jacket had fallen to the floor. Garry blinked at it sleepily.

Then he heard it. Soft crying. 

He pursed his lips. 

Went back to sleep.

The fourth time, he was finally awake for the day. He hopped over his guardians, kicked aside the jacket, looked down when he heard a clatter. The lighter from the night before fell out of the pocket.  It was plastic, colored transparent so the liquid inside was visible. It was not special at all. He could tell because Garry always saw them when he went to the gasoline station with one of his parents.

With the mental image of a tiny fire against a dark background, he picked it up and stashed it under his pillow.

-

It had been a month since Garry last saw his father, asleep in the rocking chair. In the next few years, he would come to learn to live without him. Getting a chance to see or hear from his father would become a very special treat. 

The house was quieter since that night. He wasn't sure how having one less person could make such a big difference, but he did know that he did not feel like playing around and making a racket as much as he used to.

He was also not able to sleep a full night ever since his mother told him that his father was going to be gone for a long, long time. When ever he woke up at night and the shadows were looming and gloomy, he'd reach under his pillow for the lighter and flick at it until it lit up. Usually his thumb would be really sore by then, but it didn't matter to him. He was entranced by the little flame, sucking up the darkness and replacing it with a comforting glow. 

One night, Garry followed his usual routine of lighting the fire, only this time it came unexpectedly faster than usual. Perhaps he was finally getting the hang of it. Nonetheless, he managed to burn himself enough to bring him to tears. In the middle of the night, he went to his mother for help and got a healed burn, a confiscation of the lighter, and a good scolding out of it.

A week later, he found another one.

He'd never noticed it before, but his father really left a lot of them lying around. He began collecting them, squirreling them away in different places and hoping he wouldn't forget them later, praying his mother wouldn't find them either.

His obsession with them didn't fade even as the years passed him by. Usually he was perfectly content with just staring into it, studying it, feeling its heat. Other times, he enjoyed discovering new tricks. Tossing it from hand to hand, twirling it, creating a short rhythm or tune from the hisses and clicks it made, igniting multiple lighters at once. Whatever he could think of, he would attempt it.

However, playing with fire, literally in Garry's case, never really turned out well. The burns didn't stop, and Garry had to learn to suck it up and treat the injuries himself if he didn't want his mother to find out and become upset again. With such poor treatment, scars began appearing on his hands, noticeable enough that got him bullied at school. He was the poor soul without a dad, the loser who - through influence of living with only his mother - talked differently than everyone else, and the freak who had terrible hands.

He tried wearing gloves for a while, but they were too much of a hassle to take off and put on for different occasions, and he found himself forgetting them more often than not. They also brought attention to his hands, which was the opposite of what he wanted. Instead, he made it a habit to keep his hands in his pockets. It wasn't the best solution, but it made it easier for people to forget about them.

That was until, at age 16, he found a perfect solution.

He had gone out to look around - at the shops, the cafes, maybe purchase another lighter -when something blue and ragged caught his eye. 

It was a dark blue jacket in a window display. It was odd, not something he would normally consider wearing, so out-standing and attention calling. When he went inside to try it on, however, all doubts were erased from his mind. 

He adored it.

It was quite larger than him, but he figured he could grow into it. He still had a couple of years to go with that, after all. The rips around the neck area and on the sleeves attracted attention, but they went over his hands anyway which meant he wouldn't have to worry about hiding them anymore. It was all he ever wanted.

Plus, he thought, it wouldn't be a bad look to have once he painted his hair the color he wanted.

-

Two years later, Garry throws on the very same jacket - now much better fitting - and heads down to the art gallery that would turn out to plague his thoughts and nightmares for a long time to come.

-

Just moments before, Ib and Garry had made a run for their lives. They'd been locked in a room - one with a painting of Ib's parents which he could tell had shaken her to her core. Understandable, as he would have most likely reacted the same way, if not worse. Ib really was a brave little girl. - and soon after, those half-paintings half-ladies started breaking through the walls. After a mad dash for the hole the things had created and evading more paintings and statues, they had made it to the relative safety of a hallway, only to have Ib pass out on him.

It had set his heart racing. Checking her rose (three petals, not too terrible) and finding no signs of bleeding only made him feel slightly better. He picked her up gently and took her to a nearby room. Scoping for any danger and luckily finding none, he set them up in their temporary haven.

Garry had shrugged off his jacket for Ib to use while she slept on the floor. He wished he could do better for her, but under their circumstances, a small room with bookshelves and a painting that actually stayed in its place was as good as it could get. 

Eventually (thankfully), she woke up. She told him of her nightmare and he sympathized, tried to console her with a piece of candy. She seemed calmer after that which made him beam internally. They decided to take a small break there before heading back into chaos.

While Ib went to browse through the books, his jacket hanging off her small frame, Garry sat down on the floor, leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. 

Weariness pressed down on his body, a dull ring felt like it was pulsing through his veins. He was itching to keep moving, but aching for some rest. Either way, he was eager to get out - together.

He was so busy thinking about all the things he would do back in their home world, he only vaguely registered when Ib sat down next to him and grabbed his hand. It was only until her fingers started running over his skin over and over that his eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth, thinking of what to say, but Ib didn't look particularly alarmed or disgusted.

"Does it hurt?" 

Dumbfounded, Garry shook his head. Ib nodded and, trailing the scars once more, returned his hand, scooting closer to him.

And that was that. No accusations, no teasing remarks, no sarcastic comments, no intrusive questions. Just simple caring for his well-being. Garry couldn't help but smile to himself.

They sat in silence together for a while, a nice contrast to the insanity they were currently drowning in. Garry thought his companion had drifted off to sleep once more (Lord knows he definitely wanted to, but he wasn't about to leave both of them defenseless like that) but Ib's weary sigh told him otherwise. It was a tiny sound that seemed too tired and ancient for a nine year-old girl.

"Do you think we'll really make it out of here, Garry?"

He paused carefully. "Yes, of course we will." He ruffled her hair. "I know it. You wanna know why?"

"Please." Her eyes turned to him, studious and attentive to everything he was about to say.

"I have three very special things that I will now give to you," He began joyously, positioning himself in front of her, smiling. He held up his index finger then proceeded to tap her forehead three times. "Friendship - each other, to help us out and pick us up and give us the pleasure of company. Miracles - to give us hope, the strongest emotion in the world, and to keep us going. And last but never least, love." Garry wondered whether he should continue, but understanding twinkled in Ib's eyes. He smiled softly. "Never forget, my little hero."


End file.
